


Long Weekend

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sharing a Bed, Vacation, ten pounds of tropes in a five pound bag, terrible swimwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: It's time for the annual beach trip! Which means Carver gets too look forward to three days of sun, fun, and pining over Anders. Too bad his brother has other things in mind.





	1. Friday Night, Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Earlgreyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earlgreyer/gifts).



> because the world needs more bed sharing and fake boyfriends, right? RIGHT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Now with art by the inimitable BCrepepie!!

“Having fun yet?” Hawke jabbed an elbow into Carver’s side.

Seeing as Carver was currently sweating his ass off as he climbed the steps up to the beach house, overstuffed duffle bags hanging from each shoulder and heavy coolers in each hand, he didn’t think it very funny. “Fuck you,” he grumbled.

“The thing I do not understand is _why_ you continue making bets with your brother,” Fenris said.

“I, for one, am glad you did,” Isabela purred. “All those sweaty muscles... quite a view from back here,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Anders?”

“Hmm? What?” Anders sounded distracted.

Carver flushed, though given how sweaty he was, surely it wasn’t noticeable. Anders never paid him any attention, so why would he start now?

They all reached the upper deck, _finally,_ and Merrill poked her head out of the back door. “You’re here! Oh dear, Carver, why did you pack so much?”

“I didn’t,” Carver groaned, letting his brother’s bag and cooler drop to the deck. The bet had been for him to carry Hawke’s bags _to_ the house, not inside. “What the hell did you bring, anyway? Rocks?”

“I like to be prepared for any situation,” Hawke sniffed. “And that cooler is full of booze, so if you broke anything, you’ll have to answer for it.”

Carver huffed and made his way inside, out of the sun. Varric was in the kitchen, cracking open a beer. “Junior!” he called out, waving his bottle. “Shit,” he said, handing Carver the beer. “You need this more than me.”

“Thanks,” Carver said, wiping a trickle of sweat from his temple. The others followed, laughing and chatting. Anders was leaning over to listen to something Isabela was saying, nodding as he scrunched his nose, as if waiting for a punchline.

Not that Carver noticed, per se. He spun on his heel, taking a deep swig of the beer. There were plenty of other things to be paying attention to rather than Anders. Like the wall.

“Who wants to go for a quick swim before dinner?” Merrill asked through the bustle.

There was a ‘yes’ on Carver’s lips, but then he heard Anders. “Ooh, that sounds good. I’m in.”

Carver paused, not wanting to seem too eager, or like he was only saying yes because Anders was.

Isabela bumped her hip into Anders. “Up for skinny dipping?”

Anders rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Let’s save that for cover of darkness, shall we? Unless you’d like to have the police show up?”

“Prude,” she sniffed. “Anyway, Aveline’s working this weekend. She’d cover for us.”

Carver barely registered this, his brain caught on the idea of Anders + skinny dipping. It wasn’t that he was thinking about it; it was more like he simply stopped thinking at all, standing there mute as the others agreed to head to the beach.

“What about you, Carv?”

Carver blinked, realizing it was Anders who was asking. His brain stumbled into action, operating on the last active command: _don’t show interest._ “Nah,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll just, uh... get dinner ready. Get my turn out of the way.”

Anders, as he usually did when interacting with Carver, didn’t seem to care one way or the other, shrugging noncommittally.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you,” Merrill smiled, because Merrill always smiled. “To get it all ready so it’s waiting for us. You’re so nice, Carver.”

Varric snorted. “A real heart of gold, all right.”

Before Carver could call him on it, everyone headed to their rooms to change. Carver was left in the kitchen, trying to convince himself he wasn’t disappointed. He always got flummoxed around Anders. It wasn’t so much a crush as low-level infatuation, which flared up whenever they were in prolonged proximity to each other. Thankfully, that wasn’t often, though it was becoming a standard feature of the annual beach weekend.

There was something about Anders that was intensely magnetic. It wasn’t just that he was hot (though he was plenty hot); he had an easy grace, like a dancer, but there was this energy about him that simmered just below the surface, like... like.... Carver didn’t know what it was like. He wasn’t a poet; he was a security guard at a bank. He couldn’t hope to describe what it was about Anders that made it feel like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

The whole thing was utterly pointless; Carver wished it would just go away. Even if Anders had ever shown the slightest interest in him (which he hadn’t), Carver wasn’t nearly in his league. Anders was the only person Carver had ever heard of who had quit being a doctor. Now he was some sort of... Carver wasn’t even sure. Professor? Author? He worked at the University, at any rate, and traveled all over, writing and speaking at symposiums. Carver wasn’t even sure what a symposium was.

And now Carver was already missing out on his long weekend because he’d gotten gunshy about Anders. Again. His mood soured rapidly once everyone left -- there wasn’t nearly enough to do to justify staying behind.

Carver had decided his contribution to the vacation cooking duty was going to be a shrimp boil. It only took one pot, was almost impossible to mess up, and required very little prep. He shucked the corn, cut the sausage, scrubbed the potatoes, and defrosted the shrimp in cold water. Which took all of... twenty minutes. He looked at the clock. It was only four. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

Indecision gripped him. If he went down there now, they’d all know how quickly he’d pulled everything together. Did that matter, though? Of course he might just look stupid for staying behind at all. On the other hand....

The clatter of the screen door roused him, and he stared, dumbfounded, as Anders walked in. He was just in his damp swim trunks and flip flips, his hair slicked back and wet. There were droplets of water fighting for space with the freckles on his shoulders.

“You’re back,” Carver said.

“Forgot the sunscreen,” Anders explained. He turned his head, the cords on his neck standing out as he peered at his shoulders. “Don’t want to risk it.”

“Right,” Carver nodded. He made himself busy as he could as Anders walked past him into his room. There was very little to do, so he ended up wiping down the counters.

Anders came back a second later. “Looks like you’re basically done,” he said.

Carver looked around, wondering if he could get away with lying. Probably not. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess it wasn’t as much work as I thought.”

“You sure you don’t want to come down? Water’s terrific, and the beach is practically empty.” There was nothing in his face to indicate he cared either way.

Carver decided it would’ve been weirder to say no than yes. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Lemme just get this in the fridge,” he said, waving at the food, hoping Anders would leave. The tension of pretending he wasn’t painfully attracted to Anders was starting to wear on him.

Anders, unfortunately, had other ideas. He opened the drawer and got out the plastic wrap.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping?” Anders said, raising his eyebrows.

Carver’s stomach flipped over. “Oh, you don’t have to --”

Anders shrugged, opening the fridge. “Quicker with two.” He leaned over, his trunks slipping low on his hips.

For a moment, Carver could do nothing but stare. Then he caught himself and lurched into motion, practically flinging the food at Anders. “Great, thanks.”

“No problem,” Anders said, standing up straight. He tucked his hair behind his ear.

 _There is no part of him I don’t want to lick._ Carver winced at how filthy the thought was. “I’ll just -- get my suit,” Carver said. “Be down in a minute.”

“Sure.”

Did that mean he was going to wait? Carver fled rather than puzzle it out. He ducked down the hallway, into his room. It was the smallest, just a single bed tucked into an area that had probably once been a walk-in closet. Carver hefted his bag onto the narrow bed and began searching for his board shorts.

They should’ve been right on top -- he’d packed them last. But they weren’t. Instead, there was a pair of criminally small, fitted trunks -- almost a bikini -- made out of some shiny red material. “What the _fuck?_ God fucking _dammit,”_ he shouted, crumpling the garment, if it could be considered one, in his fist.

“What’s wrong?” Anders came rushing in, looking around in concern.

“Fucking Garrett,” Carver growled, waving the trunks at him. “He fucking switched out my suit.” Carver dangled the slip of fabric in his fingers.

Anders snorted, hiding his mouth with his hand.

Some part of Carver’s brain noted just how cute he was, but the majority of his mental functioning was taken up by rage. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Anders shrugged. “Wear them?”

Carver scowled. “Bit small, yeah?” He held the offending trunks up to his hips. In actuality, they were his size, he realized. Then he saw the prominent smiling cat emoji on each ass cheek. “Aargh, god _damn_ him.”

Anders bit his lip, his cheeks going pink. “I’d offer you my spare pair, but I don’t, ah... I think they might not fit,” he said, his eyes darting to Carver’s torso and away.

Carver was too mad to notice. “Well, there goes swimming.” He flung the shorts into the corner.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Anders said, retrieving them. He started laughing again when he saw the cat faces. “Okay, that’s actually kind of funny,” he said.

Carver sank on the bed, wiping his face in his hands.

“Look,” Anders said, his voice soothing. “Just put them on. Give everyone a laugh, and then they’ll forget all about it. You know how Garrett is. He just wants to be big man on campus for a minute.”

It wasn’t very reassuring, that thought, especially because it brought to mind that Anders also knew how Garrett was -- they’d had a brief fling a few years back. “Yeah, no thanks,” Carver grunted, unconvinced.

“But if you do it,” Anders said, a hint of mischief coming into his tone, “then you’ll be in the perfect position for a bit of payback later.”

Carver looked up at him. “Never thought of that,” he admitted.

Anders waggled his eyebrows. “He’s got to hang his own shorts to dry at some point,” he noted. “And you _are_ about the same size. Well. Ish.”

“Yeah....” Carver nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

A few minutes later, he sheepishly emerged into the common area, a towel over his shoulder. Anders was drinking from a bottle of water; when he caught sight of Carver he spluttered, choking in a huge spit take.

“Great,” Carver said, rolling his eyes. He felt incredibly exposed. Against all odds the trunks did fit; they were just very... snug. Lots of snugness happening. In all sorts of places where he didn’t normally experience it.

“No, no it’s....” Anders stared at him, biting his lip. He looked pained.

Carver sighed. Clearly, it was all Anders could do not to laugh. “Let’s go get this over with.”

As expected, there was an explosion of hooting and hollering when he arrived on the beach. There was nothing to do but own it; Carver ignored the reactions of his friends, calmly leaning over with his back to them, putting his towel with the others while waving his cat-plastered ass in their direction.

“Looking _good,_ sweetness,” Isabela said, one eyebrow raised. “Me-ow.”

“I can’t believe you wore them.” Garrett was practically hyperventilating, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Fenris was in much the same state, which was almost gratifying; Carver wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Fenris laugh so much.

“Did I miss something?” Merrill asked, looking around in confusion.

“Hawke, please tell me you brought his _actual_ swimsuit,” Varric said, wincing. “Or are we going to be treated to cat-ass all weekend?”

"That would be a cat-ass-trophe!" Hawke guffawed, slapping his leg.

“Well _I_ don't think so,” Anders said quietly from behind Carver.

Or at least, maybe he said that? Carver could’ve imagined it. Or maybe it was because Anders was so fond of cats? Yeah, that was definitely it. In any event, Carver ignored it, striding into the water. Garrett was still laughing so hard that he made no effort to defend himself. Carver ducked low, hefting his brother on to his shoulder, lifting him bodily before dumping him into the water.

After that, it was fine. They swam till around seven, then headed back to the house. Dinner came together in a snap, and everyone oohed and aahed over the meal, effectively erasing any lingering embarrassment over the swimsuit.

They stayed up late, drinking and laughing and catching up. Carver forgot all about his peevishness and confusion after two beers, and the night stretched out. Finally, they began to drop off to bed, one by one.

Carver realized at some point that it was just him, Varric, and Anders. Usually, Carver needed a buffer of at least two, preferably three, people between him and Anders. Any less than that and there was too much danger that he’d get caught staring or tongue-tied. It was embarrassing, being hung up on his brother’s ex. Especially since Anders was so profoundly uninterested in him. Carver was pretty sure Anders hated him for at least the first few months they knew each other. The second time they’d met, Anders had gotten into a heated argument about Carver’s brief stint in the military. It wasn’t quite a shouting match, but close. He’d apologized, yeah, but he’d never really warmed up to Carver, either.

Though, maybe Anders was well and truly over it. He seemed fine now, relaxed and loose, laughing easily at Varric’s story. His hair was all mussed from the beach, falling loose around his face in golden waves, glinting in the light from the pendant overhead.

Carver realized he was staring. And he was drunk. Not a good combination. “Think I’m gonna call it,” he said, downing the dregs of his beer and rising to his feet.

“Good idea,” Varric agreed. He started to gather empties and tidy up. Carver rushed forward to follow his lead, not wanting to look lazy or selfish.

“I’ve got it,” Anders said, shooing them away. “I’m going to get things ready for breakfast tomorrow anyhow. It’s my turn.”

“You sure?” Carver asked.

“Absolutely.” Anders gave him the slightest hint of a smile.

He might as well have decked Carver across the face. “Okay,” Carver mumbled, stumbling backwards.

Carver muddled his way through brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. He realized that he hadn’t packed any shorts for sleeping -- that was definitely his fault, not his brother’s. He normally slept naked. The only reason to bring pajamas was in case he ran into someone else on a late-night pee break, anyway. But whatever, he could probably get by with his boxers. They were more modest than the stupid swimsuit, anyway.

Finally, he drew back the blanket on his bed, well and truly ready to get some sleep. Well, have a wank, and _then_ get to sleep.

Except when he pulled the sheet back, there was a pile of... something, in the center of his mattress. At first, he suspected it was yet another prank of Garrett’s. But the something wasn’t readily identifiable. It looked like a pile of lint and chocolate sprinkles -- Garrett would’ve left a fake turd, or plastic spider, or something.

Suddenly Carver realized what he was looking at. He growled in frustration. “Fucking mice.” It wasn’t inconceivable, in a vacation rental like this, especially in a room that probably rarely got used.

With a groan, he shoved all his clothes back into his bag and shuffled back into the common space, intending to sleep on one of the couches.

Anders was still up, drying some dishes. “What’s the matter?”

“Mouse in the mattress,” Carver said, shaking his head. “Just going to camp out here.”

“Where? You can’t hope to fit.”

Carver stared at the wicker loveseat, which was about half his length. “I’ll be okay.”

Anders huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Look, I’ve got the biggest bed. Just sleep in my room. It’ll be fine.”

“What??” Carver stared at him, horrified.

Anders rolled his eyes. “What, you afraid I’ll take advantage?” The sarcasm was dripping.

“Of course not,” Carver spluttered.

“Just -- it’s fine. Go sleep. I’ll be done in a few minutes. We can figure the rest of the weekend out tomorrow.”

Carver couldn’t think of any more objections, and since the only other choice seemed to be to continue to stare at Anders, he turned and left. Anders’ room was much nicer than Carver’s, with a queen size bed and attached bathroom, but then again, he was paying more. The bed was still made, though Anders had put his belongings on one of the nightstands.

Carver settled on the other side, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He was suddenly wide awake. It was fine, though. He could do this. He just had to act like it wasn’t a big deal. Because it wasn’t a big deal, was it? There was plenty of room, after all. And regardless of Carver’s hapless, hopeless attraction to Anders, it wasn’t reciprocated in the least. Carver was sure of that.

Gingerly, Carver got under the covers, switching off the light. He laid on his side, as close to the edge of the bed as possible, facing the wall. He could just faintly hear Anders puttering around in the kitchen. And then, footsteps coming down the hall. Carver squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep.

Anders came into the room. After a pause at the threshold, Carver heard him enter, root around in his suitcase for a moment, then the light in the ensuite bathroom clicked on. Carver sighed, listening to Anders wash up. He wrenched his eyes shut again when the light clicked off and the bathroom door opened.

There was another brief pause, and then Anders padded over to the bed. Carver felt the mattress dip. He stayed still as Anders scooted under the sheets, pulling them taut.

With the sheet stretched between them, Carver was achingly aware of the space separating him from Anders. He wondered if Anders was also on his side, and if so, whether he was facing towards or away from him.

Carver clenched his jaw at the thought. What difference did it make? Why was he thinking about that at all? Unless he farted, in which case, hopefully Anders was facing away.

Despite the the tension, Carver snickered. This, of course, poked a rather large hole in his “pretend to be asleep” plan.

“You up?” Anders whispered.

Carver waited a beat. “Yeah,” he whispered back.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Anders said, shifting his position.

Carver wondered which direction he was rolling. “ ‘S’fine,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Couldn’t see you contorting yourself on one of those loveseats,” Anders whispered. “Merrill wouldn’t even fit.”

They lay silently for a moment, until Carver jolted into a sitting position.

“What’s wrong?” Anders said, also sitting up. He clicked on the bedside lamp.

“I forgot to steal Hawke’s swimsuit,” Carver said, getting up. “It’s hanging up outside with the towels.”

Anders squinted at him, one eye shut against the light of the lamp. He was shirtless, leaning back on his elbows, the sheet draped over his hips. Carver knew he was probably wearing pajama bottoms of some kind, but it was way too easy to imagine he was naked. It was also way too easy to wish he was, and to wish Carver could do something about it. “You still going for that, then?”

“What?”

“Well I mean,” Anders said slowly. “You could get back at him some other way.”

Carver frowned in confusion. “I mean, yeah... I guess? This was your idea,” he said, thoroughly confused. “And I don’t want to be branded ‘King Cat-Ass’ for the rest of my life.”

Anders huffed a laugh, wiping his eyes as he flopped back to the mattress. “That’s fair,” he conceded. “Though you know Hawke will play it up if you switch on him. And then we’ll have to see _him_ in those things all weekend. I’m just looking out for the common good.”

Blinking rapidly as he tried to process it all, Carver slowly nodded. Anders was right; Hawke would find a way to turn it around and make it seem like he wanted to parade around in a Speedo all weekend. He was certainly shameless enough. Though Carver wasn’t at all sure he understood the bit about the common good. That sounded like Anders actually _liked_ seeing Carver in those tiny shorts, which made less than no sense. It was probably just a joke. The important thing was the prank. “I’m shit at coming up with payback, though,” Carver said.

“I’ll help.” Anders offered. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah -- yeah, alright,” Carver nodded. Awkwardly, he clambered back into bed. Felt weird, with Anders looking at him, but whatever. He settled as far away from Anders as he could, once again facing away from him. Should he say anything? Good night, or....? Nah, that’d be weird. Carver squirmed, trying to get comfortable as Anders turned off the light.

Sleep did not come quickly. Carver was distracted by the fact that he didn’t feel the bed move after the light went off. That meant Anders was on his back. Which, in turn, meant there was much less space between them than before. Carver could practically feel how close Anders’ arm was to his ass. And that just made him think about all sorts of things that could be happening with Anders and asses, which made him really wish he’d gotten a chance for that wank earlier.

Although it took Carver forever to get to sleep, it took him only a fraction of a second to wake up. This was largely because Varric came knocking at some ungodly time. “Blondie, c’mon! I thought you were making breakfast.”

The door was partly ajar -- had Anders left it open last night? -- and Varric took that as permission to pop his head in. “Well, shit,” he said, his eyebrows in his hairline as he took stock of the scene. Carver, for his part, scrambled to sit up and put as much distance between himself and Anders as possible, practically falling off the bed in the process.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Anders said quickly.

“Hey, none of my business,” Varric said, holding up his hands.

“There’s a mouse nest in my bed,” Carver scowled. “Go look for yourself.”

“I believe you, Junior. Not gonna stick my nose in rat crap, thanks. Not before breakfast, anyway.” He looked pointedly at Anders.

“Alright, alright,” Anders grumbled, flipping the sheet back and sitting up. He was only wearing boxer briefs -- not that Carver noticed, or anything. “Actually, Varric, you can help with something. We need to get back at Hawke for stealing Carver’s suit. Any ideas?”

“Oooh, good one. Simplest thing would be to steal his suit, but that’s too easy. He’d probably just go naked, and we’d all suffer.” Varric scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“That’s what I thought,” Anders said, pulling on a t-shirt.

“What are you looking to do, anyway?” Varric leaned on the door frame. “Embarrass him, or make him uncomfortable?”

“I’d love to make him squirm a little,” Carver admitted. “Especially if I have to squeeze into those damn trunks all weekend.”

“Well, I mean, I’m looking at the best solution,” Varric said, gesturing at them both.

“What?” Anders froze, frowning.

“I’m just saying,” Varric shrugged. “We all know Hawke’s going through a dry spell since Sebastian dumped him. What better way to get back at him than to make him think you’re ‘doing the do’ with his ex? Rub his nose in it a little, that kind of thing.”

Carver and Anders both objected at the same time; Carver just spluttering incoherently while Anders pointed out that he was ‘hardly an ex’.

“A fling, then,” Varric said, waving off the distinction. “You know he’s gonna wrap himself into knots wondering if he measures up to his little brother. He hates it when he’s not the best at everything. Remember the hot dog eating contest?”

“Don’t remind me,” Carver groaned.

“Anyway. Anders, Fenris is already up. Sorta. He’s just kind of sitting there and glaring at his coffee, but he’s upright, and he looks cranky. Better get a move on for food before he starts trying to fend for himself.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Anders promised.

Varric left, shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Anders quirked an eyebrow at Carver.

Carver stared at him, comprehension dawning. “You’re not serious.”

Anders smirked. “He’s right, you know. It’ll drive Hawke batty.”

“Yeah, but....” Carver continued to stare, now beginning to panic. He could not, for the life of him, think of a reason to refuse that didn’t involve admitting he was attracted to Anders in the first place. It was like a bad movie. “I mean... how would we....”

“Oh, psh,” Anders scoffed. “I’m not suggesting we make out in front of everyone. It won’t take much. And we’ll have to let Isabela in on it. She’ll love it. She and Varric are the perfect accomplices. And think, it’ll be that much more satisfying at the end of the week, once Hawke realizes we’re all in on it.”

“What about Fenris? Or Merrill?” Carver wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse, having the others know it was fake.

“You really think Merrill could keep a secret?” Anders looked skeptical. “We’ll leave her out of it. I doubt Fenris will care one way or the other.”

Carver was well and truly caught. How could an idea be simultaneously so terrible and perfect at the same time? “I... guess.... Yeah, okay.”

Anders headed for the door. “Wait here until you hear Hawke get up. It’ll work best if he sees you come out of here with his own eyes.” He grinned wickedly. “This is going to be fun.”

He was gone before Carver could think of any response. Carver flopped backwards on the bed. How the fuck was he supposed to do this? Well, one thing was clear, at least: Anders had obviously softened up about their thorny patch from a few years ago, if he was willing to fake hooking up with Carver. So... that was good, right?

About five minutes later, he heard his brother talking out in the hallway. “Yeah, I’ll wake him up,” he called out. Then there was a knock on the door across the hall. “Carver? C’mon, everyone’s up, and Anders is making pancakes.” Clearly he thought Carver was still asleep in his original bedroom.

Well, no time like the present. Carver yanked on some cargo shorts, then opened the door from Anders’ room, pretending to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Pancakes?” He shrugged on a t-shirt with extreme casualness.

Garrett gawked at him with such a look of consternation that Carver almost lost it and began laughing. Suddenly, he could see the appeal of this little scheme.

Carver yawned, scratching his stomach. “Maker, I need coffee. I did not sleep a wink.”

Hawke stammered, a bunch of nonsense syllables that didn’t actually add up into words. “Wha- bu- you- wha-”

“Ah, there you are, sleepyhead,” Anders said, once they emerged from the hallway. He grinned widely. “Wasn’t sure you’d ever get up.”

Isabela was the first to catch on, or perhaps Anders had managed to tell her what was up. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Carver. “So, you two finally managed to work it out, hmm? Finally.”

“What? What d’you mean, _finally?”_ Hawke scowled.

“Oh please, it was so obvious,” Isabela scoffed, sinking into her seat at the table. She cradled her mug in two hands. “Good coffee, by the way,” she said to Fenris.

Fenris grunted. He wasn’t a morning person.

Merrill, however, was. “Are you -- and -- oh, that’s so lovely!” she gushed, looking back and forth between them. “I had no idea! Since when?”

“Yeah, _since when?”_ Hawke crossed his arms.

“Since I saw him in that swimsuit,” Anders said, biting his lip as he flicked his kitchen towel playfully at Carver’s ass.

 **_“What??”_ ** Hawke was practically shouting, his eyes bugging out of his head.

Carver levelled him with a gentle smile, batting his eyelashes. “Guess it’s a good thing I packed it, then.”

Hawke frowned. “I don’t believe this. You’re not. You can’t be. You’re just saying this to fuck with me.”

Varric snorted. “Hawke, that’s ridiculous. Trust me. I know from pranks. My room is next to theirs and believe me, none of us got any sleep last night.” It was a complete fabrication, of course. God bless him, he even glared at Carver. It was very convincing.

Carver would never have been able to pull off such a bald-faced lie. However, he could play along. “Sorry,” he shrugged, sounding not at all sorry.

“We’ll be quieter tonight,” Anders promised, handing off a platter of pancakes to Fenris, then slipping a hand around Carver’s hips, making sure that he didn’t hide the handful of ass he managed to grab along the way.

Carver hurriedly slurped down some coffee; acting was all well and good, as long as he remembered it was, indeed, all an act.

Breakfast was a long affair, involving several pots of coffee and entirely too much bacon. They lingered over the table, laughing and joking, until half past ten. Hawke looked suspicious and grumpy the whole time. It was perfect.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to hit the beach,” Anders said, getting to his feet. He put a hand on Carver’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m going to go get changed.”

“That sounds lovely,” Merrill chirped. “Let’s get this all cleaned up.”

With all six of them, the table was cleared in minutes. Carver drew the short straw to do dishes, but Isabela plucked it out of his hand. “I’ll trade. You should go change, too. Before Anders gets done taking off his clothes.” She winked outrageously and shooed him away.

Grinning, Carver ducked out, ignoring Garrett’s glare. He had to admit, this plan, as stupid as it was, was working great. He didn’t even mind the prospect of squeezing into the cat-ass suit again. It was worth it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for "cat-ass-trophe" goes to Athos. :D


	2. Saturday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan starts to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags!! make sure you check 'em before reading!

The door to Anders’ room was shut; at the very last second Carver stopped himself from knocking. That would’ve looked funny, right? Carver decided it would, so he just walked in.

Anders was, in fact, changing his clothes. His back was to the door, thank god, but Carver still got an eyeful of ass as Anders pulled up his swim trunks. “Oh! That was fast,” Anders said, cheeks going pink.

God, he was so gorgeous. “Sorry,” Carver winced, averting his gaze. “Thought I shouldn’t knock.”

“Good thinking,” Anders nodded. He began brushing his hair. 

Carver concentrated on rooting through his bag for his travel kit. He definitely didn’t need to watch Anders fix his hair. Instead he scooted around him, intending to use the ensuite to brush his teeth.

“Hey,” Anders said, catching his arm. “What do you think so far?” He cocked his head toward the door.

Carver had a lot of thoughts, most of which had to do with seeing Anders half-naked. He forced himself to stay on topic. “I thought Garrett was going to burst a blood vessel when Varric said the thing about us being too loud.”

Anders snorted. “I know, god, that was amazing.” He smiled.

Carver’s stomach went wobbly. Anders didn’t smile that much, and Carver wasn’t sure he’d ever been on the receiving end of one. He grinned back, blinking stupidly. “Yeah,” he nodded. Suddenly he realized he’d been nodding for far too long. Probably looked an idiot. “Anyway, gotta --” He held up his toothbrush.

“Right,” Anders said, spinning away. He pulled his hair up and looped an elastic band into it. 

Carver brushed his teeth and washed his face. With a sigh, he pulled on the blasted swim trunks. He had to admit they were more comfortable today. Maybe he was getting used to it.

Back in the bedroom, Anders was putting sunscreen on his shoulders. “God, what a mess this stuff is,” he grumbled. He stretched, trying to get the cream in between his shoulder blades.

“You, uh, want a hand?” Carver asked.

Anders turned to him, no sign of what he was thinking. “Sure,” he said after a moment, handing Carver the bottle.

Carver regretted offering as soon as he had the sunscreen in his hand. Maker, what was he  _ doing?  _ “Maybe I should wait,” he said. “Till we’re at the beach?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather give it time to soak in,” Anders said.

“O-okay,” Carver nodded, feigning indifference. “Turn around.”

Faced with the expanse of Anders’ back, Carver quailed. Anders was thin, but muscular, and his back was peppered with freckles. There was nothing for it; cringing, he began to work a small amount of sunscreen into Anders’ skin. 

Anders didn’t react at the touch, at least not that Carver could tell. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Squirting a generous amount into his palm, he handed the bottle over Anders’ shoulder and then used both hands, smearing the goo around. “There. All done,” Carver said, wiping his hands on his own chest.

“Here, I’ll do yours,” Anders offered. 

“Oh no, no, that’s fine,” Carver said. 

“I’ll not have you putting yourself at risk of skin cancer on my watch,” Anders said. “I used to be a doctor, you know.” He shook some sunscreen into his hands and gave the bottle back to Carver. “Turn around.”

Carver couldn’t think of any other objections, so he obeyed. He startled when Anders touched him. “‘S cold,” he explained when Anders paused. 

Anders was close enough that Carver could feel the puff of laughter on his neck, and now he really did have goosebumps. “Don’t be such a baby,” Anders murmured.

He was a lot more thorough than Carver had been. It was practically a massage, in fact. Anders reached around with one hand. “I ran out,” he said, holding his palm up. The other hand was still on Carver’s back, almost curving around his waist.

“Oh, er.” Carver twisted around, fumbling with the cap on the bottle. Anders was very, very close to him, and what with all the touch and the lack of his normal evening (and morning) wank, Carver really wanted this over with as soon as possible. 

He’d just managed to splurt a little of the cream into Anders’ hand when the door burst open and Garrett leapt in. “Ha-HA!” He pointed at them accusingly.

Anders and Carver froze. 

Hawke’s look of triumph crumbled. Clearly, he’d been expecting to catch them faking the whole hooking-up thing, though how busting in on them was supposed to accomplish this was a mystery. “I don’t believe it,” he said, standing up straight.

“Did your mother teach you those manners?” Anders sniffed.

“Hey,” Carver frowned over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Anders said. “Wasn’t thinking.” He went back to rubbing the sunscreen on to Carver’s lower back, now making a big production out of it. 

“Oh god, that’s disgusting,” Hawke groaned, shielding his eyes as he made himself scarce.

Once he was gone, Anders dissolved into snorting giggles, his forehead falling onto Carver’s shoulder. “Ah, that was hilarious.”

“Heh, yeah,” Carver mumbled, doing his best to hold perfectly still and trying to calculate the tensile strength of the laces on his trunks. He was more than half-hard. 

“Anyway,” Anders said, moving away from him. “You ready?” He slung his towel over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Carver said slowly. “Just gonna use the facilities one more time,” he said, waving at the bathroom.

“Oh, right,” Anders nodded. “See you down there.”

Carver made a beeline for the ensuite. He waited, making sure he heard Anders leave, before frantically yanking down his shorts. With a relieved groan, he began to get himself off. It felt so good he was tempted to take his time. Then again, his dignity had just taken a blow; letting Anders think he had to take a shit just so he could jerk off was not his finest moment. So it was fast and mechanical, done in service of speed and not pleasure. 

Once that was taken care of, Carver felt a lot better. Plus his swimsuit fit properly again. He headed down to the beach with a jaunt to his step.

It was a great day for the beach. Hawke, of course, continued to watch Anders and Carver with extreme suspicion. Anders was turning out to be a gifted actor, effortlessly slinging an arm around Carver’s shoulders and smiling at him, or lofting the occasional “babe” his way. 

At one point, Hawke retreated to the cottage to get more ice, stomping angrily up the steps that led over the dunes, apparently fuming about the splash fight Anders and Carver were having.

Carver barely held in his laughter till Garrett was out of sight. “He is so, SO angry right now.”

“I know!” Anders crowed, grinning triumphantly.

“Still, I mean, are we, I dunno. Overdoing it?” Carver asked. “Technically, we just got together.”

Anders’ smile flagged, just a hint. He looked up over the dunes, squinting against the sun. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “Though we have to overdo it a bit, I think? We want to keep him thinking it’s fake, but not able to prove it. If it’s too realistic, he’ll just give in.” He turned back to Carver. “But if I’m making you uncomfortable, please --”

“Oh no! No, I’m fine,” Carver cut in. “No problem.”

“Good,” Anders said, and his smile came back. “Because this is way too much fun.”

The weak feeling in Carver’s legs was because of the wave that broke on the back of his knees. Absolutely. No other possible reason. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

It was Fenris’ turn to cook dinner that night, and he went all out, grilling up a veritable mountain of kebabs, lamb and chicken and vegetable, plus some sort of grilled flatbread, almost like pita, but softer. 

“God, Fenris, this is delicious,” Varric said, helping himself to a third kebab. “I’ll take a touch more of that yogurt sauce, Hawke.”

“Coming up,” he said, handing the bowl to Anders to pass.

Anders drizzled a generous amount on to his own plate before giving it over. Carver couldn’t help but notice when he sucked a stray dollop of sauce from his finger. 

“You really outdid yourself, Fen,” Anders said. “When did you make the dough for the lavash?”

“While you were staring at Carver’s ass,” Fenris said dryly.

“Gave you plenty of time, then!” Isabela hooted, laughing at her own joke. 

Mostly everyone laughed, including Carver, though he blushed despite himself. He hadn’t particularly noticed Anders doing that, but then again, he wouldn’t, would he? Garrett, naturally, scowled. Surprisingly, Anders flushed as well, and although he was laughing, he looked almost embarrassed.

“I still say they’re faking,” Garrett grumbled.  

“Hawke! That’s not very nice!” Merrill chided. “Anyone can see they’re crazy about each other.”

Carver felt a pang of guilt at that. Fooling his brother was one thing, but fooling Merrill was another. He glanced at Anders, just as he did the same.

“See? See? There. I told you. What was that look for?” Garrett narrowed his eyes.

“What look?” Anders asked, all innocence. “We’ve quite well established I think there’s something worth looking at.” He turned to Carver, his face a picture of simpering affection, batting his eyelashes.

Even though Ander’s vapid smile was laughable, Carver got caught by the devilish spark in Anders’ eyes. He stared back, not having to fake being dumbstruck. 

Apparently his mouth was hanging open, because Anders took the opportunity to hand-feed him a morsel of lavash and lamb. Varric and Garrett objected strenuously, while Isabela made outrageous purring sounds. Carver hardly heard them, too distracted by the brief sensation of Anders’ fingertips on his lips.

Thank god, the conversation moved on after that. When dinner was over, they decided to light the tiki torches and sit on the deck. Isabela called in her favor and switched with Carver to do the dishes, which was fine by him. He needed a break from people for a few minutes. So he didn’t rush through it, taking his time. It was kind of pleasant, in a way, to keep his hands busy, listening to the faint sounds of his friends out on the deck. He loved these trips, but prolonged contact with the others could be tiring.

He’d been at it for perhaps forty minutes when Anders came sauntering in, his wine glass half empty. “You’re still going?” He drained his drink and began rattling around the open wine bottles on the shelf. Holding one up to the light to judge the volume remaining, he emptied the contents into his glass.

“That’s what she said,” Carver replied automatically. He was almost done, in actuality -- just a few of the large pots left.

Anders giggled, which was a strange enough phenomenon that Carver looked up. His hair band had long ago given up the fight, though it clung doggedly low on Anders’ neck, leaving tufts falling loose around his face. His eyes were twinkling. They twinkled rather a lot, in fact. 

Carver guessed a good bit of that had to do with the wine and not his terrible joke. “I see you’re ahead of me.” He pointed at the glass with his chin.

“Darling, we’re all ahead of you,” Anders said, picking a piece of lint off Carver’s shoulder. “Can’t you go any faster?” He took a drink.

“Anders,” Carver said, fixing him with a steady look.

“Carver.”

“You know what I’m going to say to that, right?”

Anders blinked. “That’s what she said!” he blurted, slapping Carver on the shoulder. This quickly turned into a caress as Anders rubbed circles into his back. 

Carver looked around; Garrett was nowhere to be seen. “Just how far ahead  _ are  _ you?” 

Anders sighed, leaning against him. “Isabela wanted little drinks,” he explained.

“Oh good lord,” Carver groaned, rolling his eyes. He shoved the last pan into the drying rack and wiped his hands on a tea towel. “Come on. Let’s get you some water.”

“That’s a very good idea,” Anders nodded seriously, just before he drained his wineglass again.

Fighting back a grunt of disapproval, Carver fetched a glass and filled it at the tap. “When was the last time you did shots?” He leaned backwards on the kitchen counter. 

“Oh, psh.” Anders waved him off. Then he appeared to think about it. “What year is it now?”

“Drink,” Carver said, holding the glass up. 

Obediently, Anders took the water and drank it, staring playfully at Carver the whole time. Then he put the glass on the counter. As he was standing right in front of Carver, Anders ended up caging Carver with his arms. 

The intimacy of it felt wrong. It was strange enough to be on the receiving end of Anders’ affection when he knew it was fake; now, knowing it was because Anders was drunk, was unsettling. Carver twisted in place and grabbed a bag of dinner rolls. “Eat,” he said, holding up the bread. 

Grinning with mischief, Anders tore a hunk out of the roll with his teeth. 

Carver clenched his jaw. “Come on, don’t be --”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Garrett walked in. “Really? You must be staging this. How do you know when I’m going to come into the room?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is Isabela texting you? I know she’s in on it.”

Anders dissolved into giggles, burying his face in Carver’s chest. “I can’t help it, he’s so cute.” He wasn’t  _ quite  _ slurring, but it was close. 

“How many rounds of shots did you guys do?” Carver glared at Garrett.

“Me? Just one. Your loverboy there insisted on doing one for you as well.” Garrett crossed his arms. “Serves you right.”

Anders continued to giggle in fits and starts.

Carver rolled his eyes. “Hey. Hey, finish eating this,” he said, keeping his voice gentle, giving Anders the rest of the bread. 

Garrett threw up his hands and stalked out, muttering to himself. 

“Thanks a lot for your help,” Carver called after him.

Anders looked up at him owlishly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-” he said, hiccuping. “Didn’t mean to-to get drunk. Dehydrated after the beach,” he said. “Wine at dinner. Blood alcohol continues to rise for 45 min-minutes after consumption.” He rattled off the diagnosis, apparently memorized from some ancient lesson, before putting his face back on Carver’s chest. “Wooo, I am _ drunk.” _

“You are,” Carver said, sighing in frustration. “Come on. I’ll tuck you in,” he said, pushing Anders upright.

“Mmm, thanks,” Anders nodded, stumbling a little.

It was no easy task. Anders wasn’t a tiny person, and somehow the alcohol seemed to give him an extra set of arms and legs. More than once, he ended up half wrapped around Carver, until finally they both went down on the mattress in a tangle of limbs. 

Carver clambered off of Anders as quickly as he could, pulling off his sandals and tossing them in a corner. He fetched the cup from Anders nightstand and filled it in the bathroom. “Here, drink more of this,” he said, holding it out.

Anders leaned up on one elbow and drank about half of it before handing it back. “Thank you. You didn’t need to --” he gestured at the bed.

“No problem,” Carver said. “Just promise me you won’t piss the bed.”

Anders snorted. “That’s disgusting.” He settled back on the mattress.

“Get some sleep,” Carver said, standing up. But Anders’ eyes were already closed.

Carver topped up the water and set a couple tylenol on the nightstand, then clicked the light off and made his way out to the deck. 

“Here he is!” Isabela said, raising her glass.

“Yeah, would’ve been out a lot sooner if someone hadn’t been getting Anders so drunk.” He glared at her as he grabbed a beer from the cooler.

Isabela was immune to his peevishness. “Listen, sweet thing, it’s not my fault he didn’t drink any water at the beach, and then had most of a bottle of wine at dinner. The rest of us are doing fine,” she said, holding her hand out at the rest of them as if it constituted evidence.

“Oh, is he okay?” Merrill fretted. “I thought he looked a little tipsy.”

“I got him some water and bread. He should be fine,” Carver said, sitting down. “I’m sure he’ll feel it in the morning though.”

Garrett snorted derisively. “And why do you care, exactly?”

Carver frowned at him. Without Anders taking the lead, it was much harder for Carver to keep up the act; he was a terrible liar, something Garrett knew full well. The problem was, there was an answer already hovering on Carver’s lips, and it had nothing to do with the prank. “Look, I-I like Anders. A lot. So just back off, okay?” He turned away, taking a swig of his beer. 

Garrett’s eyebrows flew up. His mouth opened, and then closed again. He tilted his head, then calmly helped himself to a handful of tortilla chips from the table next to him.

Everyone blinked in astonishment. “Hawke, you feeling okay? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually back off when someone told you to. And that’s saying something,” Varric said.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Garrett said. “Carver, I’m sorry for doubting you.” He said it with such calm sincerity that Carver instantly knew something was up.

Whatever it was, no one else seemed to notice. The night wore on, and Carver couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation he’d done something stupid. Garrett didn’t pay him any more attention than normal, and aside from the occasional sly glance, it was like any other night. 

After an hour, Carver stood abruptly. “Well, I’m off to bed,” he said. 

“What? It’s only...” Isabela paused to check her phone. “Eleven-forty,” she said.

“Didn’t you hear?” Garrett smirked. “Poor Carver didn’t get any sleep last night. Too busy having sex with Anders, isn’t that right?” Garrett gave him a bland smile. 

Carver suddenly realized what was bothering him. Garrett  _ knew. _ Somehow, he knew that Carver had meant what he’d said earlier, about liking Anders.  He stared at Garrett, his stomach twisting. “Fuck you,” he said, which is what he always said when he ran out of comebacks.

Garrett smirked. “Sleep well, little brother.”

Panic didn’t set in completely until Carver let himself into the bedroom. God damn it all. The simplest thing would’ve been to admit then and there that it had all been fake, just take the hit and leave it at that. But god only knows what Garrett would do for payback. Given his shit-eating grin, it would probably involve telling Anders that Carver was interested in him. Dammit. Dammit dammit  _ dammit.  _

He felt his way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before he clicked on the light. Carver brushed his teeth as quietly as he could and had a pee. There had to be some way to salvage this. Obviously, he couldn’t tell Anders what was happening -- there was no way to have that conversation that didn’t involve confessing that Carver hadn’t exactly been faking. Which brought up some murky gray areas about things like consent. Surely Anders wouldn’t have agreed to Varric’s scheme if he knew --

Carver’s eyes flew wide open.  _ Varric.  _ This whole thing was his idea. He’d know a way out of it. Yeah. Carver could just talk to him in the morning, explain the whole thing, and Varric would have a plan. He had a million plans. It’d be fine. 

Turning off the light, Carver crept back into the bedroom. Anders was conked out, snoring quietly. There wasn’t a ton of room; Anders had sprawled out. More importantly, the motion of the mattress roused him enough that he shifted, rolling to his stomach and half on top of Carver. Smacking his lips slightly, Anders squirmed a bit, wrapping his arm around Carver’s chest and resting his head on Carver’s shoulder.

Carver knew he had to push Anders off of him. Anders was drunk; he couldn’t consent to cuddling like this, even if he wanted to. Which he wouldn’t, Carver knew.

Unfortunately, the cuddling felt very,  _ very  _ good. Carver took a deep breath, and then began to untangle himself from Anders’ sleeping embrace.

Anders grunted in disappointment, which was much cuter than it had any right to be, and rolled over and away. Carver took another deep breath, and then another, trying to ignore how unmoored he felt. He’d figure it out in the morning. Varric would come through. He always did.


	3. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All pranks have to end some time.

Carver awoke to the drone-whistle rhythm of Anders’ snores. It was way too early to wake up on vacation, but there was no way Carver was going to be able to sleep with all the noise. Gently, Carver extracted himself from the bed. He was pretty sure Anders was going to feel absolutely rotten once he woke up, though he saw that at some point he’d drank the water and taken the tylenol. Carver brought more of both before slipping out of the room.

Garrett wasn’t in the kitchen, thank god, but neither was Varric. Instead, Isabela lounged on a stool, sipping coffee as she read something on her phone. 

“Morning, Carv.”

“Is Varric up yet?” Carver asked, looking around.

Isabela laughed indignantly. “Nice to see you too.”

“Sorry,” Carver ran his hands through his hair. “I need his help.” He rummaged in the cabinets for a coffee mug. Coffee was definitely in order.

“With your brother? I’m not so bad with pranks either, you know.”

“Sort of,” Carver said, chewing the inside of his lip. Maybe his problem was more in Isabela’s wheelhouse, anyhow. “Can you keep a secret?”

Isabela’s face went flat. “Carver. Of  _ course  _ I can keep a secret. Come on, let’s go on the deck.”

They settled themselves outside. It was overcast and already muggy, with a storm brewing on the horizon. So much for swimming, then. “Now,” Isabela said. “Is this about you having trouble faking the fact that you’re faking being into Anders?”

Carver winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh honey,” Isabela said, shaking her head. “It is to me.”

“Fuck,” Carver sighed. “Does he know, you think? I mean, he can’t possibly, right? He’d never have agreed to this if he knew.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he’s the most perceptive person I’ve ever met.” Isabela looked out towards the horizon. 

“Garrett knows,” Carver said glumly. “And now I’m stuck. I can’t stop the act without admitting to him it was a prank, and if I do, he’s likely to tell Anders I wasn’t faking.”

“Would he really do that?” Isabela looked taken aback. “That seems awfully cruel.”

“Maybe not,” Carver admitted. “But I can’t be sure.”

“I suppose talking to Anders is out of the question?”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a bit.”

Isabela sighed. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe Anders is enjoying this a little too much?”

“What?”

Sipping her coffee, Isabela batted her eyelashes at him. “Maybe he’s getting more out of this than you think.”

“Like... what? Does he have a grudge against Garrett or something?”

“Oh my god,” Isabela groaned. “You are so clueless. Sweetie, Anders has had his eyes glued to your ass practically nonstop. And not because he likes cat emojis.” She paused. “Okay, he does like cat emojis,” Isabela conceded. “But I think he likes your ass a lot more.”

All of Carver’s limbs suddenly felt too light, and his stomach too heavy. “What?”

Isabela shrugged. She swirled her coffee mug, then drained the last mouthful before getting to her feet. “I think we’ll go into town for breakfast,” she mused. “I don’t feel like cooking.”

Carver sat on the deck for a few minutes, his thoughts all over the place. It didn’t seem possible that Anders could be remotely interested in him. Usually he all but ignored Carver. The last few days accounted for more one-on-one interaction than they’d had in the past three years. 

Briefly, Carver wondered if Isabela was lying. Maybe Garrett had put her up to it? It wasn’t that his brother was cruel, but he’d do anything to get Carver to admit Garrett was right. It seemed farfetched, though, involving Isabela like this. 

Abruptly, Carver stood and went back inside. Regardless of whether there was something to what Isabela said, this whole thing was getting ridiculous. He’d just tell Anders that Garrett was on to them and they should stop. If Garrett wanted to be an ass and blab Carver’s secrets, well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. 

The way things stood, Carver wasn’t even sure the whole prank was worthwhile in the first place. All he’d done was become even more hopelessly besotted with Anders, and now he’d have to put an end to it. God, what was he thinking? He hadn’t been, that was the problem. He shouldn’t have agreed to Varric’s scheme. Whatever perceived payback he was supposedly going to get on Garrett wasn’t worth feeling as miserable as he did right now.

Carver refilled his coffee. Isabela was nowhere to be seen; she was probably taking a shower or something. Without really thinking, Carver grabbed a second mug and filled that too, adding some cream to it. He’d seen Anders put cream in his coffee yesterday.

At the bedroom door, he pushed the handle down with his elbow, entering the room hip-first. Anders was awake, peering at him with bleary eyes. 

Carver set the coffee with cream on the bedside table. “You found the tylenol, I see.”

“Mm,” Anders said. “Was that you?”

“Figured you’d need it. You were in rare form last night.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Anders said, wiping his eyes with his fingertips. “No idea what I was thinking. Is this for me?” He looked at the coffee.

“Uh, yeah,” Carver said. He sat on the edge of the bed while Anders scooted into a sitting position. 

“Tylenol  _ and  _ coffee? You’re like the angel of hangovers. I can’t think how I’d feel now if you hadn’t rescued me.”

Carver gave a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve been there.”

There was a pause as they drank their coffee. “Is something wrong?” Anders asked.

Carver took a deep breath. “Garrett is onto us,” he said. 

He couldn’t tell what Anders was thinking -- he barely reacted. “Are you sure?” Anders fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug.

“Pretty sure, yeah.” 

“Did he say anything?”

Carver rolled his shoulders. “Not in so many words, but I know how he is.” 

“Oh.” Anders looked at the window. There was nothing to see; the blinds were drawn. 

“So, uh, I guess you can get your bed back tonight,” Carver said, with another weak chuckle. 

Another pause. “Where will you sleep? There’s that whole mouse situation, as I recall.”

Carver shrugged. “If I push the ottoman up to the couch, I can manage,” he said. “It’s just one more night.”

Anders nodded, staring into his coffee. “Right.” 

It was intensely uncomfortable, sitting there. Worse than some of his actual, real-life breakups. A thought hit Carver and he laughed.

“What?” Anders asked.

“Merrill’s going to be so disappointed,” Carver said, peering up at the ceiling.

At that, Anders started laughing. “True.”

They both laughed for a few seconds, but then the tension returned. Anders inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment. “What if I -- what if I told you she’s not the only one?” He looked up at Carver through his lashes.

Carver blinked, comprehension slow to dawn. His pulse thudded in his ears. He should say something. Something like....

Carver had never been good with words, and the look that Anders was giving him was rapidly draining his remaining vocabulary. Carefully, Carver set his coffee on the nightstand, pulling Anders’ mug from his hand with no resistance, and setting that aside too. Swallowing hard, he leaned over, slowly. Slow enough that Anders could easily shy away or say something or stop him. 

But Anders did none of those things. In fact he reached for Carver’s shirt, pulling him in the last few inches. Carver wound his fingers into Anders’ hair, and then they were kissing, breathless and desperate, panting slightly as they clacked teeth.

God, it was amazing. Some part of Carver knew they should probably slow down, maybe talk about things, but after a day and a half of touching and flirting and seeing Anders half-naked, Carver’s willpower wasn’t very strong. 

Especially not with how eager Anders was. He whimpered with frustration, trying to move against Carver but getting twisted in the sheets. Carver broke the kiss only long enough for Anders to shove away the offending fabric. 

Carver settled between Anders’ legs, leaning over him. Anders bucked upwards, rutting frantically and gasping as Carver dragged his teeth over the shell of his ear. “Oh god. Yes, nngh -- let me --”

At that, Anders slithered underneath him, shimmying down the mattress. Carver leaned up to his haunches, unsure of Anders’ intention. When Anders started mouthing Carver’s cock through the fabric of his shorts, tugging insistently on the cloth, things became more clear. 

Carver rolled away, yanking off his clothes as quickly as he could. Anders did the same, his own hard cock slapping him in the stomach once it was free of his boxer briefs.

Anders almost lunged for Carver when he turned back to the bed, but Carver held him off. Much as he wanted Anders’ mouth on him  _ now,  _ he also couldn’t fathom waiting to do the same. He scooted around to lay on his side, his feet at the headboard. “This alright?”

“Fuck yes,” Anders whispered, reaching for him in earnest.

It had been a while since Carver had sucked cock, and longer since he’d sixty-nined. That turned out to be an asset, since the concentration involved in sucking Anders took the edge off the otherwise spectacular head he was getting in return. He wouldn’t have lasted much more than a minute otherwise. 

Anders apparently had no gag reflex, taking most of Carver’s length easily. Carver could do little more than moan quietly around Anders’ cock, using his hands to do the bulk of the work. He wanted to be doing a better job -- he really did -- but Anders seemed determined to distract him as much as possible. 

Luckily, Anders seemed to get off as much on sucking cock as he did from Carver’s mouth and hand. Carver got the impression he was trying to be quiet, which was probably good -- the others likely hadn’t left yet. God, what would he sound like if he wasn’t trying to muffle himself? What would he sound like when he got fucked?

At that thought, Carver groaned, tensing up, trying not to come. Anders nodded and made an encouraging sound, his hips making small motions as he fucked into Carver’s fist. 

“Anders,” Carver muttered, gasping. “Fuck, I’m -- oh shit.” He screwed his eyes shut as he came, his whole body shuddering. With a strangled gasp, Anders came into Carver’s hand a few seconds later.

It took a moment for the reality of it to settle in. More than anything else, Carver wanted to sleep; he’d gotten precious little of it the past few days. Still, he clambered off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom to clean up. When he came back, Anders had straightened the sheets up and was laying with his hands under his head.

Carver lay down next to him.

“So,” Anders said quietly. “That just happened.”

“Yeah,” Carver nodded. “It did.”

There was a brief pause. “D’you think they heard us?” Anders murmured.

Carver shrugged. “Might not even be here now,” he said. “Isabela is taking everyone to brunch in town.”

Anders started to laugh weakly. “Wish I’d known that,” he said.

“Sorry,” Carver rolled to look at him. “I should’ve said. Don’t want you to miss breakfast.”

Anders scrunched his nose, incredulous. “I’m not upset about missing greasy overdone diner eggs,” he said. “If I’d known we could have the place to ourselves, I would have asked you to fuck me.”

Carver groaned, rolling once more, this time onto his stomach. Anders continued to laugh gently. Then that stopped, and it was quiet again.

Carver knew he should say something, he just didn’t know what, exactly. 

Anders beat him to it. “I’m sorry.”

Carver jerked his head up. “What? Why?”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to this prank idea. I haven’t exactly been acting, these past few days. And that’s not fair to you.” Anders looked up at the ceiling, as if he was counting tiles.

Carver stared at him for a good five seconds, but his brain just whirred in confusion. “What?”

Anders sighed, shaking his head. “I just -- I don’t expect anything, is what I’m saying. If this one time is as far as it goes, that’s -- that’s fine.” 

It didn’t sound fine to Carver. “No but -- Anders, I haven’t been acting either. At all,” Carver said. “I can’t act my way out of a paper bag.”

Anders’ eyes fell closed, and he pressed his lips together in a suppressed grin. “Are we -- are we really  _ both  _ such idiots?”

“Well I know  _ I  _ am,” Carver said at once. “But I thought you couldn’t stand me,” he said. “Because I was in the Army.”

Anders rolled to face him fully. “No, I can’t stand the  _ Army. _ And I was such a sanctimonious prick to you about it, and since then you’ve barely looked in my direction, not to mention the whole sleeping-with-your-brother thing. Because  _ that _ was a good idea,” he drawled, dripping sarcasm.

“I don’t look because I don’t want to stare,” Carver said. “It’s not like you were exactly sending out signals, either.” 

“Oh my god.” Anders rolled his eyes, smiling. “We’re awful at this.”

From the floor, Carver’s phone buzzed. He frowned. “Who’s texting me?”

Anders reached down and retrieved the phone, handing it over. 

“It’s Garrett.” Carver’s frown deepened. He read the text aloud. “‘Finally. We thought you'd never get there. We’re going to breakfast now and then to the movies, will be gone for hours and hours, try not to pull anything and remember to take breaks for water.’ What the hell?”

The sound of muffled conversation and car doors opening and closing came from outside the window. Anders and Carver stared at each other. 

“I don’t understand,” Anders said. “Did they... hear us, or...?”

Carver rolled off the bed, pulling on his shorts. He yanked the door open, intending to chase down his brother before they left. He almost tripped on a small package left in the doorway, wrapped in newspaper.

“What is it?” Anders sat up, trying to peer over Carver’s shoulder. 

Carver ripped the paper open. Inside was his actual swimsuit, plus a ziploc baggie. Inside the bag was what appeared to be a mouse nest, labeled “DRYER LINT AND CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES” in Garrett’s handwriting. 

“I don’t believe it,” Carver said, sitting on the bed in shock. “Those  _ bastards.”  _

Anders, meanwhile, laughed, resting his forehead on Carver’s shoulder. “Oh my god, they played us. The whole thing was a set-up. The suit, the mouse, Varric’s prank, all of it.”

“I don’t believe it,” Carver said again.

Anders kissed the nape of his neck. “So... sounds like we have the place to ourselves, then? How about we get some toast, and see what we can do about making up for lost time?” He kissed Carver again, this time nipping at his skin.

It was all so unbelievable. Carver looked over his shoulder. “How do you feel about trying on the cat-ass trunks?”

Anders snorted with laughter. “I thought you’d never ask.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter titles: Sunday Funday, or Sunday SUNDAY _SUNDAY!_

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt for Earlgreyer's Black Emporium Exchange, and though I wasn't able to write the treat in time, the idea wouldn't let me go, so here it is.


End file.
